


Ain

by raven (singlecrow)



Category: Humans Are Space Orcs (Meme)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlecrow/pseuds/raven
Summary: Humanity, as a species, is confusing.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 183
Collections: Humans Are Space Orcs, Yuletide 2019





	Ain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redsixwing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsixwing/gifts).



While of course zie was hatched into the Great Confusion as all zir people had before them and blessed with bewilderment as zir epistemological birthright – the Kratkika worship perplexity as the natural order of things -- Commander Gaza’ann has nevertheless identified two _particular_ aspects of confusion, arising from zir four galactic standards of dealing with humanity as a species. One is their regrettable tendency towards pig-headed sentiment: a general observation made by many individuals more esteemed than Commander Gaza’ann, and examined in detail in Kratkika academia across the gamut of political theory, science and gastronomy. 

The other, Commander Gaza’ann has decided, three solar days after arriving at the unnamed exoplanet of Ain, is Presbyter Caxton. 

These have not been good days. Commander Gaza’ann has not enjoyed them. Zie was intending to proceed to Kratkika Primus with all the haste appropriate for ending of a long exile. Zie has been consuming military space field rations for three galactic standards and has not immersed zir flagellae in planetary saline in almost as long. Zie is not interested in ancient civilisations on distant unnamed exoplanets and was previously unaware of any Kratkika-Human mutual-aid-and-archaeological-assistance treaty on the subject.

Presbyter Caxton, meanwhile, has been sitting on the floor this cave for three times her body’s circadian cycle, trying to uncover an enormous carved inscription with no tools or assistance. She is what humans call a _woman_ , a common name for a complex physiological phenotype. She is about Commander Gaza’ann’s own elevation, with purple hair, black skin, long, elegant fingers. She commands a ship called _Fortitude_. Commander Gaza’ann, in command of Kratkika transport _Gaza’ann-air-qam_ , would never have come across her or her ship if she had not improbably made this discovery while conducting a routine mineral survey.

“You see,” she says, making a pattern in the dust of the cave with the tip of a limb. “When the star, Epsilon Tauri – sorry, you call it Ain, don’t you? So when it went nova, it destroyed all its planets. All except this one.”

So far, Commander Gaza’ann understands. Although zie cannot interact with humans on a basic emotional level – their minds are too biologically foreign for zir to parse their thoughts – the facts of the matter do seem clear. This tiny planet is indeed outside the furthest ambit of the nova, and Commander Gaza’ann comprehends the logic in an advanced civilisation preserving their artefacts out of the range of their dying star. 

“So this stuff” – Presbyter Caxton’s pointing limb indicates in turn the shadowy carvings on the walls, the glittering crystals with data encoded into their molecular structure, the friezes, metal tablets, engravings – “has been waiting for millions and millions of years, for us to find.”

“And we have found it,” Commander Gaza’ann agrees. Zie is thinking again about planetary saline, and how refreshing it will be in zir bronchioles. “You will not conclude this archaeological investigation alone. Others will come. Better equipped.”

“But we can’t just find it and _leave_ ,” Presbyter Caxton says. She is surrounded by the debris that she has been cleaning off the buried inscription. A range of figures are carved into the rock beneath the alien inscription. Whether they are intended to be representative of the people who made them, or abstract art, Commander Gaza’ann does not know.

“Like… I know, I can’t do this by myself,” Presbyter Caxton says. “But… I just, I want to know everything about these people! Don’t you? They’ve been waiting so long.”

“They were not waiting,” Commander Gaza’ann says. “They were dead.”

Presbyter Caxton makes a wordless noise that is as impossible to parse as her thoughts. “Why’re you even here, Commander?” she asks. “ _I’m_ here because I fucked up. You know what that means? Because I told a Vice-Admiral back at Spacefarers’ Central Command that he couldn’t put his cocky-little-shit nephew on my command crew and risk all of our safety on the chance he wouldn’t trip over his own dick, and because they couldn’t actually cashier me for that they sent me on this godforsaken back-of-beyond survey mission.”

“You did not want this,” Commander Gaza’ann says, slowly, trying to understand. “But nevertheless you are here. And so am I.”

‘Yeah,” Presbyter Caxton says. “I didn’t want to be here. I shouldn’t be here. But now I am, and I’m kind of, you know, occupationally obliged, you know?”

“I do not.”

“I’m a ship’s chaplain as well as captain. I worry about people’s eternal souls. Even people who’ve been dead for millions and millions of years. It’s kind of crappy. I’m going to shut up. You don’t have any of this shit and you’re probably right.” 

“We have… some of this shit,” Commander Gaza’ann says slowly. Despite zirself, zie is becoming interested in this conversation, or at any rate less concerned with zir bronchioles. “The Kratkika are the Blessed Confused. We do not search for clarity, as you do. We are what we are. These people were what they were. Their passing was as senseless as a senseless universe can be.”

“Huh,” Presbyter Caxton says. “That… makes sense, I guess. I don’t know. You’re right I can’t dig up these people all by myself. I just wanted to do something, you know? Before we go and it’s years till either of our governments sends anyone back.”

“I understand that,” Commander Gaza’ann says. Something has begun to happen in zir mind: an altering awareness like the clearing of a clouded sky. Despite the alienness of her, the helical strangeness in her flesh and fluids, zie is starting to hear – not her thoughts, but the fact of her thoughts. That she has emotions in the flesh of her being, as Commander Gaza’ann has in zirs.

“You do?” Presbyter Caxton asks, with an intonation Commander Gaza’ann can now read as hope.

“Your people tend towards pig-headed sentiment,” Commander Gaza’ann informs her.

“Yeah, well, yours suck balls, Commander,” Presbyter Caxton says, her thoughts dancing with colour.

“You intended to be humorous,” Commander Gaza’ann says. “You do not mean this thing.” 

“Yeah.” Presbyter Caxton indicates the ground next to her with a limb. “Help me dig this out, okay?”

“Yes,” Commander Gaza’ann says. Zie settles zir flagellae under zir body and assists. “I did not want to be here, Presbyter Caxton. My hatchbrood instructed it. They intend a structural regulatory rearrangement of our liquid assets at which my presence is not financially effective.”

Presbyter Caxton stares at zir, her mouth moving. “Your family told you to go away for tax reasons?”

“Yes,” Commander Gaza’ann says. “That is substantially correct. I will assist you in this work for a short time and then I will resume my journey.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Presbyter Caxton says, warmly. “I can shut up and not talk, if that helps you any?”

“Please talk if you wish,” Commander Gaza’ann says. “Confusion is blessed.” 

Zie thinks it will make her laugh, and is pleased when it does. When they finish uncovering the inscription, they go straight on to the next.


End file.
